"Oh." I remembered the Dean's reaction to the Sadat brothers.
"I got myself transferred to Portland as soon as I could, and when I'd found a place to live I sent for Sarah. We got married two years ago in Reno, and her parents haven't communicated with her since. As far as they're concerned, Sarah is dead."
"Not my mother," Sarah said. "I let her know I was all right."
Pierce scowled, "Yeah. Well, when the boys beat me up, they beat Sarah, too. If Mary says she's afraid of them, I believe her, and I'm not sending her back. She's Sarah's sister, and she can stay with us as long as she wants to."
I said, "Then what do you think we should do? She can hide from her family, but she can't hide from the police. Not indefinitely. And I still have to report that I saw her."
Pierce rubbed his forehead. "Gawd, what a mess."
"All right." I was conscious of Francis Hrubek waiting alone in the baggage area. "Look. I'll leave you to work it out. At the very least, Mary should call Dale Nelson or Lisa Colman in the Shoalwater County sheriff's office. What I want is your address and telephone number. Maybe, when Mary explains the situation, the police will take her statement here. She'll have to go back eventually to testify. If she doesn't know anything much--"
Pierce said unhappily, "She knows something. I couldn't get it out of her."
"She'll kill me, too," Mary wailed.
I drew a breath. "If by 'she,' you mean Bianca Fiedler, I think you're wrong, but if she is a murderer, then I want her brought to justice. If you don't give evidence, Mary, Hugo's killer may never be caught. Please stop blubbering and think a little."
Mary just cried harder.
Sarah said, "She won't calm down now. And she won't tell you anything, either. Leave her alone."
I looked at Pierce. He dug out his wallet. He handed me a business card.
"This isn't your home phone."
"You're a hard-nose," he said without rancor and got out a pen. He took the card from me and scribbled on the back of it. "There you go. Address and phone number. We won't go away."
"Word of honor?"
He nodded.
I stuffed the card into my handbag. "Okay. I'm a fool to trust you, Jerry, but I do. Call the sheriff."
He nodded.
"I'm going to," I said. "Immediately."
"Give us time to get her calmed down."
I stared at Mary's heaving shoulders. I admit it. I don't understand weepers. Mary was getting her way, though. If it works...
Pierce picked up his bag. "Haul her up, Sarah. I'm taking the two of you home."
Sarah levered Mary to her feet, and the three of them started off toward the terminal. I paced them as far as the first bank of telephones. Then I dug out Pierce's card, opened the phone book, and verified that there was indeed a Gerald Pierce at the number he had indicated. I tried to call Jay without success. I also called the sheriff's office and left a message that included Pierce's name and phone number.
The whole melodramatic episode had taken twenty minutes. It was past time for me to rescue Francis Hrubek.
Chapter 15
I found Hrubek with some difficulty in the scrimmage of passengers near the Delta baggage carrel. He did not look happy. When I spoke his name, however, he composed his features into a kind smile and asked if I had found my friend.
I drew a long breath. "Yes. I do beg your pardon. I'll explain everything--"
He was handing me his plane ticket. "Look for the black bag with a green plaid ribbon on the handle, and point me to the nearest men's room."
I walked him to it and went back to the carrel. Luggage was still tumbling down onto the conveyor belt. The passengers scrabbled and bumped each other. I stood back and watched. Eventually I spotted the bag. When I heaved it from the conveyor, I realized that Hrubek had exercised a mild revenge. I came close to rupturing a disc. Books, obviously. The bag had wheels and a telescoping handle, though, so I pulled it after me to the carpeted hallway and waited until he emerged from the restroom. When he didn't see me, I said his name again.
"Ah, you found it." He beamed at me.
"Yes. Do you want me to drive the car around or shall we walk to it?"
"Walk," he murmured. "My legs need stretching."
So we crept across the zebra-striped walkway to the parking structure, I trailing the black bag with the green ribbon. I even remembered where I had left the Honda.
When we finally reached I5 North and the traffic thinned, I said, "I owe you an explanation."
"Eh?"
"For abandoning you in the baggage claim area."
"My dear young lady," he said with the elaborate courtesy of his generation, "it is I who am in your debt for meeting the plane."
I shot him a sideways glance and decided he was as mad as a hornet. Hrubek was a major writer, after all, and I was supposed to cosset him. I had even forgotten to mention the clerk at Powell's books.
Too late for autographs. I swallowed. "It's this murder, you see."
"Murder?"
"Didn't Bianca tell you that a member of her staff had been murdered?"
"Oh, the young man who was killed. Murdered, you say."
I felt the flame of pure rage. Damn Bianca. "Murdered," I said firmly. "The woman I chased after is not a friend. She's a material witness, and she's been missing for more than a week."
He twisted to face me. "Missing?"
"And presumed dead." I explained. In fact, fueled by my anger, I talked from Vancouver to Clatskanie. I told him everything.
Though I was furious that Bianca had not made the situation plain to him, Hrubek seemed more interested than appalled. He listened with the murmurs and cues that signal encouragement, but when we drew up at the town's sole light, he said, rather plaintively, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to stop for a burger?"
I looked at the dashboard clock. It was eleven thirty. "Lord, your stomach's on Eastern time, isn't it?" I negotiated an abrupt right-hand turn and pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant I knew. "We can do better than a hamburger."
The least I could do was to buy him lunch.
He did want a burger--a double cheese with a mountain of fries--though the restaurant specialized in seafood. I had the shrimp salad. We ate in friendly silence. I finished first.
He bit into a large greasy French fry with the relish of a man who has fallen off a low-cholesterol diet. "That's more like it. Hadn't you better telephone your husband again?" I had explained my futile attempts to communicate with Jay and Dale.
"Will there be anything else?"
Distracted, I looked up at the waitress. "No, I--"
"Another cup of your splendid coffee, my dear." Hrubek contemplated the final French fry.
The waitress gave him a professional smile. "Right away, sir."
"Uh, I'll take the check," I muttered. She handed it to me and went off for the coffee pot. I stood up. "I'll call Jay and settle this." It was the kind of restaurant where you pay the cashier.
"Take your time, Lark. Thanks for the snack."
Snack? It occurred to me as I paid the tab that Marianne was going to enjoy Francis Hrubek. "Irks care the crop-full bird?"
The hospital switchboard paged Jay again, and this time he picked up the phone.
My relief was disproportionate.
He had gone home for a couple of hours for a shower, he said. Dale had driven him, and he'd returned in the Toyota, so I wouldn't have to pick him up. Jason had still not regained consciousness. Worse, he had developed pneumonia, but the doctors thought it would respond to medication. Jay sounded very tired.
When I told him I had found Mary, though, he perked up.
"Holy shit! You mean she's alive? Is she with you? Christ, this puts a spin on everything."
"Jay!"
He gave a laugh that was pure exuberance. "I love you, babe."
"Well, I, er, love you, too." The phone was quite near the cashier's counter and the people lined up to be seated were listening to me with every sign of interest. "Mar
y isn't with me."
"What!"
"Jay, pipe down. I didn't have any kind of authority over her and, believe me, she doesn't want to come back to Kayport." I gave him a recap of my encounter with Mary.
He kept making small sounds of astonished disbelief, but I knew he was drinking it all in, even the irrelevancies. I finally wound down. "And get through to Dale, will you? I tried."
"Right away."
"Will he accuse me of tampering with his witness?" I was feeling a little anxious, because I had already tampered with the candy maker in Seaside.
Jay gave a snort. "He's more likely to kiss your feet--if Mary doesn't take off again. What was the address?"
I read it to him and the phone number as well. He said Dale would probably ask the Portland police to interview her. I wondered if they would take her into custody. I didn't like that thought, but I didn't express it. I did emphasize Mary's emotional fragility, and I think Jay listened. He told me again that he loved me, a sign of extreme ebullience and some kind of record. I said I'd see him in a couple of hours.
I went back to my captive writer with a huge sense of relief tempered by uneasiness. Hrubek rose when I started to sit down again and said he wanted to use the restroom. I followed him as far as the lobby and stood there looking at the old photos of logging camps that decorated the walls between shelves full of country kitsch and artsy costume jewelry.
The place was a tourist mecca in summer, but the crowd that Sunday were locals. My thoughts drifted to my bookstore. Two more weeks and I'd be dealing with tourists myself. I could hardly wait.
U.S. 30 follows the cliffs along the Columbia, except for a few recent straight cuts through the forest above it. The driving can be tricky in bad weather, but that day the road was dry and almost free of traffic. Hrubek's long flight--and the cheeseburger--put him rapidly to sleep, so I had time to think about things.
Mostly Bianca. I was by then convinced she had killed Hugo, though I still had no idea of her motive. In this judgment I was influenced by pure fury. It was bad enough that she had manipulated me. That she should practice gross deception on a man of Hrubek's stature seemed to me both immoral and foolish. Clearly she was capable of anything.
I glanced at the snoozing writer. He had reacted to my revelations with some shock, but he hadn't seemed angry. I supposed Bianca had conned him, as she had conned me.
Mary had said repeatedly that "she" would kill her, too. The "she" couldn't be Angie. Angie had an alibi. Of the two other women, the obvious choice for the role of murderer was Bianca. It had taken me that long to admit the obvious because I was in denial. I hadn't wanted Bianca to be the killer because I hadn't wanted to admit what a patsy I'd been. It was that simple.
I screeched around a curve marked 35 MPH and the rear end of the Honda slewed. I slowed down. No point crashing the car because I was mad at myself.
Crashing. Could Bianca have engineered Jason's wreck? Would she have known he was likely to take the shortcut? Not impossible, I told myself firmly. Besides, the crash might not have been rigged. Jason was more than capable of running the pickup off the road without assistance.
As we approached Astoria, the highway reverted to its 1930s origins and began twisting. I geared up and down repeatedly, and Hrubek began to stir. At Tongue Point a camper pulled out in front of me going twenty, and I had to brake hard.
Hrubek sat up with a snort. "Where are we?"
"Astoria. We cross the river again here. It takes about forty-five minutes from the bridge to the farm."
"I had quite a nap, then."
We crawled into Astoria. "Feel better?"
"Less mush-brained." He burped. "Sorry. Tasty burger."
The sluggish camper turned off at a supermarket, and I speeded up to thirty-five.
Hrubek was peering out the window. "Nice town?"
"I like it. Lots of nineteenth century carpenter gothic architecture, big Scandinavian population."
"Fishermen."
"Yes, though the salmon runs are vanishing."
"According to William Clark, salmon jumped out of the river into the Indians' nets in 1801."
I eased through a yellow light. "The salmon die-off is a rotten shame."
"What's causing it? The dams?"
"Partly. Partly clear-cutting. That raises the temperature of the streams the salmon spawn in. The loggers deny it. They blame the Russian and Japanese fishing boats offshore."
Hrubek clucked his tongue. "Plenty of blame to go around. I wish I could see better. I have the feeling I missed some spectacular scenery."
"And some spectacular clear-cuts." We were approaching the bridge. From the east, the sheer height of the span over the ship channel is stunning. I knew when Hrubek caught sight of it, because he drew a sharp breath.
"We're going up on that? Looks like a roller coaster."
The traffic lights were with me. I eased onto the winding ramp that leads up to the bridge. As we reached the apex of the span Hrubek said, "Freighters?"
Three cargo ships lay at anchor below in the river. "Astoria is the first port of call for a lot of trans-Pacific shipping. Most of the vessels go upriver to Portland, but they take on their pilots here and let the crews loose for a little R and R."
"Must make for lively Saturday nights."
We swooped down onto the lower segment of the bridge. A falling tide had again exposed the mudflats at mid-river. Across the water, the hills on the Washington shore stood out in sharp focus for once. Sometimes they disappear in a grey mist. The water was a deep blue-gray.
Hrubek wriggled his shoulders in the seat harness and gave a small sigh. "You'd better tell me what I need to know about Spider Woman."
There were no flies on Francis Hrubek.
I gave him a restrained evaluation of Bianca's life and accomplishments. I did my best to sound neutral.
He said, "You're a loyal employee."
That was too much. "I'm not an employee at all," I said grimly. "I'm an independent book-dealer she conned into helping her with the workshop. I was also the murdered man's landlord, and I liked him. In my opinion, Bianca should have cancelled the workshop when Hugo's body was found. At the very least, she should have warned you that you're being thrust into the middle of a murder investigation. She is--" I hesitated. "She's a suspect," I finished lamely.
"I see. What shall we do about it?"
I eased to a stop at the end of the bridge. "I don't know, Mr. Hrubek."
"Frank."
"Thank you, Frank. I threatened not to show up, and Bianca got around that. It's too late to cancel the workshop."
"Oh, the workshop will happen. You misunderstood me. I meant, what shall we do when the sponsor is hauled off to the pokey?"
"Contingency planning?"
He smiled. So we talked it over. By the time I turned off the highway at Meadowlark Farm, I felt much less panic-ridden. I also learned some interesting things about Hrubek.
He was not a naturalist by training, as I had assumed. He had a degree in journalism from Columbia and had worked on several urban dailies before deciding that modern journalism offered no room for thoughtful discussion of long-term issues.
Growing up on a Depression-era farm, he understood gardening, as Hugo had understood it, from his mother. Sometime in the 1950s, Hrubek had begun serious reading about the environment, and his work had grown from those roots. He was, in short, the ideal writer to guide young journalists through the ecological wilderness. Bianca had found him, had persuaded him to lead off her workshop. I had to give her that.
The farm looked idyllic in the soft spring sunlight. I slowed for the cattle guard and inched my way up the empty drive. As we neared the house, I felt my anger and apprehension sharpen. How was I supposed to deal with Bianca, believing what I did? I had encountered murderers in the past, but I had rarely had to deal with them once I knew they were killers. By that time, they were in custody. I was sure my feelings must be written on my face in large letters.
&nb
sp; I parked the car in the lot near the car barn, beside the red Cherokee Keith usually drove. It looked as if it had been recently washed.
When I had set the brake and killed the engine, I turned to Hrubek. "If you don't mind, Frank, I'd like to make another brief call to the hospital. Then I'll take you in and get you settled."
He made no objection, and I picked up the phone. The switchboard operator paged Jay several times with no result. Something must have happened. My stomach knotted. "Will you page Louise Callender?"
Fortunately Louise was the deputy on duty. She picked up the phone almost at once.
I identified myself.
"Oh, Mrs. Dodge, you just missed him. Jason regained consciousness about an hour ago. Dale and Jay took a statement, and then they left."
"Did they say where they were going?"
"Dale meant to phone the lab, and he wants Judge Kononen to swear out a warrant--" She broke off as if she'd said too much.
"A search warrant or an arrest warrant?"
I wasn't surprised when her voice cooled. "I'm afraid I can't say, Mrs. Dodge."
I thanked her and replaced the receiver.
"Good news?" Hrubek asked.
"I don't know. Something's happening, though." I turned to face him. "Thanks for your patience. I suppose we ought to go in."
He smiled. A nice man. I popped the trunk lid and got out of the car.
I lugged Hrubek's bag as far as the mudroom and left it there. Then I led him through the kitchen. I heard voices and was not surprised to find everyone still seated around the dining table. Marianne had told me she was going to serve the main meal at one so she could take her time arranging goodies for the reception.
As we entered the dining room, Bianca jumped up and turned around to greet us. She homed in on Hrubek as if I weren't there, charm at full wattage. I gritted my teeth.
Keith rose from the far end of the table, and Del and Mike stared. Angie gave a tentative smile. Marianne got up and sidled past us to the kitchen.
When Bianca had finished her effusions and introductions, she turned to me. "We thought you might make it back in time for dinner." Her tone conveyed mild reproach.
I found myself immune to the tiny manipulation. In fact, what I felt, looking into her intense brown eyes, was embarrassment. She had done something shameful, and I was embarrassed for her, for the human race, possibly.
Meadowlark Page 18
